


there's still blood in your hair

by ventrue_antitribu



Category: Vampire: The Requiem
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Mind Control, Rough Oral Sex, Vampire Sex, Vinculum shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventrue_antitribu/pseuds/ventrue_antitribu
Summary: (got the bruise of the year)Idk what to tell you boys this is just unabashed smut.Edit: I took this down due to the Bad Moods and instantly regretted that.





	there's still blood in your hair

“I didn't expect you'd be here.”  
Of course he hadn’t, but what is the point of this absent observation, carried from the doorway of the safehouse and up the stairwell of the mezzanine, over the thrumming bass of some ambient track? The music is played low enough that it merely makes the small flat vibrate with energy. Not enough to be heard so much as felt. This is how Siobhan likes it, uninterrupted by the presence of-

“Louis,” She calls, cramming enough dispassion into the word that it nearly overflowed into disdain. Her throat and chest had tightened from the second she'd heard the lock click. She is barely able to regulate her tone even just to say his name by the time he has spoken. The pressure rises still as she listens to him mill about downstairs, waiting for the sound of footsteps on the stairwell. 

They never come, of course. She'd go to him - even if the intent were merely to leave for the night, she'd have to. And that was the intent. Victor, her sire, had summoned her to some private ordeal uptown, with colleagues. This was the implication, at least. 

“Just arriving in town tonight,” the man downstairs remarks casually. Why? Why waste words? Perhaps he'd been summoned as well. “Intending to stay in and handle some remote affairs for now.” Or not. And why, still? Why is he telling her this? 

She turns up the music just slightly - enough to stabilize her onset of wildly lashing paranoia but hopefully not enough for him to notice. And she doesn’t respond.

She doesn’t respond, instead staring at herself in the full length mirror - her intricate braided updo and flawlessly applied makeup, enough to cover any unsightly scars. And the dress - tight enough to ensure she remained uncomfortable, short enough to make her consider each movement, but oh-so elegant all the same; more expensive than god, all finely crushed white fabric interwoven with with intricate, semi-transparent insert panels of black lace falling just so that they reveal the gold body chain beneath. Even the hazey way her cursed figure presents, shadows moving of their own accord to conceal the damned body from reflecting, do little to detract from its striking elegance. Seen. She would be seen and not heard, and that is more than fine with her.

She looks at her skinny legs, designer boots, at the freckles on her thighs and her perfectly manicured nails. She is captivated by some reverie - some fantasy of tattooed hands disregarding the minimal layers of separation the dress provided.

Louis. Louis is downstairs and she is ignoring him. And she will continue to ignore him even as he watches her descend the stairs, his prying gaze clinical and his expression cold and indifferent otherwise and it made her feel small, made her feel bare and damnit she is ignoring him. He sits at the table in the middle of the open concept bottom floor, hands paused folded over the worn leather of a laptop bag.

“You're being particularly rude.” There was a playful teasing in his voice that wrecked what was left of her defenses. It was only a matter of time before her carefully practiced composure fell with it.  
But she is ignoring him. She keeps her posture high and continues towards the door but the room seems to stretch out before her with each step. The darkness of panic closes in on her periphery. She hears him rise, and as she finally reaches the door he casually shoves her hand away from the knob, forcing her back so that he can block her exit. 

Victor did not like to be kept waiting, or to feel as though someone was wasting his time. No one did, of course, but for Victor it was a point of grievous insult.  
“I just got into town tonight.” Louis remains unmoving in the doorway, staring down at Siobhan.  
She feels something in her snap. “You said that already,” She growls. The trap had been laid and she had sprung it and could not determine yet whether or not she regretted her hostile response. It was what he wanted, certainly. An excuse, whether or not he needed one. 

A manic glint in his eye, he advances on her, backing her away from the door easily. “And since you're here, I'd thought you'd like to keep me company.” He flashes his fangs, an overt statement of intent. The vinculum didn't mean a good god damn here in the way it normally might have between another pair of kindred. His bond to her was not affection, it wasn't security. Not for her, at least. It was convenience - and it was him holding the reins, and she knew that. He knew she knew - that he would get what he wanted from her, when he wanted it, by whatever means he desired. 

Siobhan's mind drifts back to Victor. To her prior obligations, thoughts writhing around some violent imagining of his reaction to her absence. The notion excites her, and that excitement invokes disgust from her enough to stagger her backwards. Still staring up at Louis, she threads her fingers into her updo and frees a cascade of strawberry blonde hair over her narrow shoulders, craning her head this way and that to shake loose any reluctant strands. 

“Is this some kind of fuckin’ striptease?” Louis jeers, moving from the doorway back to the chair he had occupied previously. 

Something inside her had snapped, definitely.  
“No, dumbass, and if you and your sorry little cock can't handle the sight of a woman taking her hair down without getting a twitch then that isn't my fucking problem.” 

“Pardon, Siobhan?” The words set her already cold blood to ice. She won’t stop now. Can’t stop now.

“You heard me,” She worries her fingers through her hair. “If you're not going to let me leave you're going to leave me the fuck alone. I'm not here to entertain you.” 

Louis laughs, but the sound is more like a cough. Clipped and cruel. “Does being wrong ever get tired for you?” The words pull her under. She can’t look away from him now. Some hint of living pigment seeps into his scarred complexion. He leans back in the chair casually, his hands idly fumbling with his belt. She watches him closely. She wants to, more than anything. To watch him, to be watched by him. An insidious thing holds her own will at the point of a sharpened blade. “Undress. No- strip. Strip for me, Siobhan.” 

She is acutely aware of the music once more. She had turned it loud enough to be noticed downstairs, and that thrumming bass was now her anchor and her guide. Her hands tease at the hem of her dress, thumbs hooking into the waist of her panties, out and up over her ribs before allowing the dress to fall once more with a sultry turn. Perfect, but in the way a machine might understand perfect. By the end of the track the dress has been discarded. Her little lacy excuse for a lingerie set has been discarded. And there isn’t really anything else. 

He is leaning back in the chair still, pants unzipped and lowered at his hips just so, one hand idly working a growing erection. There isn’t really anything else, so he has to cut deeper. “On your hands and knees, babe. Crawl to me.” So she sinks to the floor without a second thought, because what else would she do? _Wanted it more than anything._

The linoleum is cool beneath her palms, beneath her thighs and against her belly as she arches her back downwards in a deep stretch, staring up at Louis all the while he looks back at her, still palming at himself, boredom etched into his faint sneer. She moves across the floor towards him slow and sultry, mouth pressing into a surly pout. When she reaches him he places a boot against her shoulder, pressing her body to the floor. He holds her there for a time, sighing pleasantly and groaning at the feeling of her shaking. 

Louis eases pressure off of her back and pulls her up by the shoulders. His rough hands slide up and around her neck, propping her jaw up on the backs of his thumbs, and then up to cradle her face between his palms. The pad of one thumb works the thick foundation on her cheek away until the thick branch of scar tissue beneath is revealed, the permanent smile pulling at the corner of her lips. He withdraws one hand from her face to resume pleasuring himself, his now fully erect cock occupying a good deal of her field of vision before he tilts her chin up to once more lock eyes. 

“Like what you see?” He jeers, pulling at her lower lip with a thumbnail as if examining her gums - like a slaver. He guides her up closer to him by the chin, knees pressing on either side of her ribcage to hold her still. His knuckles brush against her sternum slightly with each languid stroke. 

She finds her body aching with long forgotten desire, implanted with intention to overwhelm her, to make her want him so much it scares her. He leans forward, his hips and cock and hand now pressing thoroughly against her chest, and exhales a hot facsimile of breath into her parted mouth. 

“Look alive, little girl.” She gasps into a bruising kiss, panting, all desperate and suffocating whines as he pulls her lower lip back between his teeth and holds it til the skin is swollen. Her heart hammers to make up for lost time, and the warmth which spreads beneath her skin is an aggressive fever. He kisses her again, his kisses have teeth. His thumb on her jaw leaves flowers of broken capillaries interspersed among her freckles. His hand on his cock strokes as well the skin of her chest. She moans into his mouth, her own hands searching then beneath his dress shirt, fingers pressing, feeling the muscles of his back and sides, nails catching - and he shoves her back from the kiss, a motion followed just as quickly by a vicious strike from the back of his hand that sends her reeling. 

“Watch yourself, you greedy bitch. I didn't fucking tell you to touch me.” That manic spark is back in his eye, overtaking the boredom. His other hand still hasn't broken its slow rhythm on his erection. His face is flush, mouth pulled into a vicious sneer, raven hair framing and throwing shadows over a fierce visage. 

Still between his legs she stares up at him, dark eyes wide and lips twitching, hair spilling into her bruised face - a pathetic little picture and not much else.  
“You disgust me.” The words elicit another moan. He knows exactly what that kind of talk does to her, made all the better with how much he means it. He yanks her once more forward towards his thick cock by the hair at the back of her head. “Use that ugly mouth for something worth my time, you stupid whore.” 

Siobhan never thought he'd ask, and he doesn’t need to with how he forces her head down and pries her mouth open with carefully placed pressure against her already abused jaw. There isn’t any easing, and her throat tightens in a reflexive gag which earns her a harsh twist to the fistful of her hair he is using to hold her down. “ _Try_ not to disappoint me.” The words are terse but his tone quavers slightly with a rueful sigh. Her lips work around the base of his member, her tongue curling around the shaft. He eases her up slowly, giving himself time to relish in the warmth and the pressure, and then slams her back down, hips rising from the chair to press deeper into a throat still tightly wound in resistance. 

Her hands have once more found purchase on his skin, now gripping at his thighs for some desperate play at grounding herself - especially as his own tight grip closes around her neck between thrusts and the room begins to spin. Her fingers claw, hands tightening slowly into shaking fists before trembling outwards once more. Her palms drift, a reverent phantasm of touch, upwards over his hips and then down, raking pale scores along his abdomen. 

 

The room darkens at the edges and she closes her eyes against the growing vertigo. Her tongue still works, curling and rolling against Louis’ cock, lips pursing and easing, sliding along his shaft with each violent roll of his hips.  
“Look at me,” Louis snarls through a choked-back moan, shaking her neck in small but vicious movements until she opens her eyes to a room underwater, cloaked in layers of blurring. Her chest hitches and her nails dig harder into the furrow of muscle between his hips and stomach. She feels the muscles over his pelvis twitch beneath her hands and the rise and fall of his own quickening breath. The ringing of suffocation in her ears drowns out his low, rumbling moans and he seizes upwards as she begins to feel the room fading in full. He releases her throat and she heaves desperate breaths between increasingly more aggressive thrusts, his hands on the back of her head, lavishing in her agonized gasps when he can’t prevent them. 

A few more moments of this and Siobhan finds herself wrenched once more away from him, bruised mouth twisting to the shape of his name soundlessly and dark eyes equal parts pleading and horrified. Louis’ callused grip finds her wrists and he snatches her upwards between his legs, her bones aching in protest at the unrelenting pressure and the uncomfortable angle he forces until he has adjusted her onto his lap. She is facing away from him, relying on her thighs pressed against his own and the grasp of one of his hands on her thin wrists for balance. 

His other hand rests against the curve of her neck, thumb against her jaw to tilt her head back so that their eyes meet. Despite the sheen of sweat on his brow, the slight panting and flush of arousal coloring his complexion he still manages a look of expectant boredom - the twist of the knife held to her will. A wordless _try harder_. 

“Well?” He breathes, pulling her back closer against his body, down deeper into his lap so that when he bucks his hips to meet her halfway the head of his cock presses partially into her folds. “Grind, Siobhan, you worthless fucking cunt - damn.” And so she does, pressing down against him until he is deep inside of her before arching away, her pert ass bouncing against his lower abdomen with each roll of her hips. He’s leaning back in the chair, their position overall precarious. 

By the time that the back legs of the chair threaten to give, Louis has ripped her off of him by the throat and hips and dropped to his knees with her beneath him, grinding her into the floor with increasing fervor. His hand finds her wrists once more, pinning them at her bent lower back. The other hand makes itself at home twisted in the hair at the base of her scalp, forcing her cheek into the floor. She’s whimpering pitifully, unable to plead for the pressure on her jaw, breath-disrupting predation of his powerful body against hers. 

His hand splays over the back of her head and his thumb strokes the scar on her cheek. Teasing her mouth open so that she is forced to lick the floor beneath her face. She exhales a pitchy, alarmed breath and writhes at the insult of it all.  
“Good girl,” He’s changed his tune now, allowing himself to lavish in her, in his absolute control over her. Groaning, he arches his back and tightens his hand on her wrists before growing somewhat still amid the violence of it all, body stiff and shoulders heaving with climax - and then he is through, sliding out of her, hands releasing his grip on her wrists and hair. For the time being, he stays on top of her regardless, watching her pant against the floor and stare back at him through a tangle of strawberry blonde locks matted to her forehead and along her cheek. 

Louis strokes her back, fingers tracing the curvature of her spine. He smiles at her coldly, a flash of fangs that sets her heart - still feigning a beat for now - aflutter. “Thank me. You’ve wasted my time for a cheap fuck and gotten blood on my clothes while you were at it,” He growls, referencing the thin lines she’d torn into his stomach beneath his dress shirt, seeping and staining red which flowers across the expensive fabric. “Ungrateful bitch.” 

He’s still smiling, still stroking his hand up and along her spine while indignity twists against his iron grip over her consciousness. _Fuck you_ , she wants to say. _Get off me, you’ve wasted_ my time.  
“Thank you, sir,” Siobhan chokes instead, and even this order is interrupted by deeper intrusion as he pulls her up and away from the floor, sinking his teeth into the space between her neck and shoulder. She cries out, hands fluttering ahead of her to grasp at the air before falling back against her thighs as she feels her vitae draining, body aching with a sweetness unlike any other sensation - incomparable agony, sultry heat, skin against skin and drifting weightless above a reality itself which threatens at any moment to unravel into blissful nothing. 

And then it is over. Louis is lying next to her, licking his lips, arms wrapped loosely around her waist, emerald stare boring into her while she trembles, wordlessly begging for him with the hunger of her expression. He holds her still as the panting subsides, the need to breathe leaves entirely. As the forged warmth drains from his body and the color and richness masking his deathly complexion vanish.  
It’s a while still before the blush fades from Siobhan’s own body, and Louis keeps her against him, head to her chest to listen to the race of her heart as it palpitates to make up for stolen blood.


End file.
